


Spoils of War

by Make_It_Worse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 900 IS BIG BABY OK?, 900 also being baby, 900 being soft, 900 is baby, Anal Sex, Androids Spoiling Hank Anderson Challenge, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Hank, Bottom Upgraded Connor | RK900, But only for Hank, Cock Warming, Consent, Distant Sex, Double Anal Penetration, Double Oral Penetration, Double Penetration, Edging, Emotional Sex, Everyone wants to be a part of it, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Grooming, Hank Anderson has a praise kink, Hank just takes some time, HankCon960, Human Furniture, Jealous Connor, Jealous Upgraded Connor | RK900, Kinktober 2019, Light Bondage, Look - I saw Ani's art and I was contractually obligated by the laws of HankCon to write it, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, No nut november, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Poor Hank, Porn, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Punishment, Shameless Smut, Switch Hank Anderson, They're all extremely horny and in love, Top Connor, Violent Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), What even are these tags?, bluetooth sex toys, distracted sex, don't look at me, jealous Connor 60, kinks on kinks on kinks, who needs a life when you can live in a skyrise and have sex all day?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: “Guest,” North sneers the word and her distaste for humans simmers on her tongue. She pushes Hank forward roughly and he stumbles. With his arms restrained behind him, he can’t catch himself. Firm hands grabbed him by the shoulders and it’s the first time he’d seen a Connor counterpart with different colored eyes.Hank nodded his thanks warily at the unfamiliar android, still uncertain what the RKs’ intentions are. North gestured vaguely at him, “Markus says you can have this one. It was already yours anyway.”--The context for Ani's kinktober arthereand another arthere, which inspired this PWP:KinkTober 30 - Master/Slave Redux (HankCon960). Androids Took Over the World and Enslaved the Humans AU. :3 Maybe North tosses Hank at Connor like "here you can have this one. It was already yours anyway."
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 66
Kudos: 260





	1. Spoils of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anifanatical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anifanatical/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Guest,” North sneers the word and her distaste for humans simmers on her tongue. She pushes Hank forward roughly and he stumbles. With his arms restrained behind him, he can’t catch himself. Firm hands grabbed him by the shoulders and it’s the first time he’d seen a Connor counterpart with different colored eyes.
> 
> Hank nodded his thanks warily at the unfamiliar android, still uncertain what the RKs’ intentions are. North gestured vaguely at him, “Markus says you can have this one. It was already yours anyway.”
> 
> \--
> 
> The context for Ani's kinktober art [here](https://twitter.com/_kiriani/status/1196909326918733825) and another art [here](https://twitter.com/_kiriani/status/1121658749192507392), which inspired this PWP: 
> 
> KinkTober 30 - Master/Slave Redux (HankCon960). Androids Took Over the World and Enslaved the Humans AU. :3 Maybe North tosses Hank at Connor like "here you can have this one. It was already yours anyway."

Hank’s knees rest on a plush pillow that he strongly suspects is filled with some kind of bio-gel that the RKs developed especially for him. If he had to guess, it was mostly 900’s doing. His near-silence was an effective mask for the softness that lurked behind cold, grey eyes. He was usually the first to jump for a solution to any of Hank’s discomfort.

Their situation was _unique_ , that much was for certain.

Hank had been struck numb by the robots’ efficiency at rounding up the humans. The defeat of humanity had been swift and violent. Hank had tried to broker peace, but North had successfully whispered poison in Markus’ ear. The humans were a threat, but useful. Best to shackle them and use them as they had once been enslaved themselves.

The irony isn’t lost on Hank. History was bound to repeat itself. Revolutions were almost always bloody and violent and to the victors go the spoils. Hank hadn’t expected the robots to consider him worth plundering. He was old, questionably alcoholic, and often grumpy. When North had arrived at his doorstep, he hadn’t put up much resistance. If death was coming for him, so be it. Life hadn’t been worth living for some time.

He was surprised when she escorted him to a van. She restrained and gagged him, but otherwise left him unharmed.

“Markus owes Connor a favor,” he overheard her muttering to the blonde android in the passenger seat. So he was being spared, then.

She herded him into an elevator with detached efficiency. It moved at horrifying speed, but the androids appeared unaffected. The numbers blurred in a sickening red as they rapidly ascended dozens of floors.

Hank considered running and leaping out of the nearest window when a familiar face greeted him at the door. Connor, but not. The one he shot in the tower. This didn’t bode well; he had no desire to be an android’s plaything before a gruesome demise.

“Stop glaring daggers at our guest,” Connor’s familiar, soft voice carries from somewhere beyond the door.

“Guest,” North sneers the word and her distaste for humans simmers on her tongue. She pushes Hank forward roughly and he stumbles. With his arms restrained behind him, he can’t catch himself. Firm hands grabbed him by the shoulders and it’s the first time he’d seen a Connor counterpart with different colored eyes.

Hank nodded his thanks warily at the unfamiliar android, still uncertain what the RKs’ intentions are. North gestured vaguely at him, “Markus says you can have this one. It was already yours anyway.”

Connor tilted his head at her, a small smile on his lips at odds with the dangerous flash in his eyes, “His name is Hank, North. Give Markus my thanks.” He shut the door in her face and that was the last Hank ever saw of her or the exterior of Connor’s lavish apartment.

He supposes there are worse ways to spend the rest of his life. Connor made introductions even though Hank had already met and shot the one counterpart. Sixty, Connor called him. The quiet, grey-eyed one he called 900.

He’d been hesitant at Connor’s offer, but he was a man with few choices. Stripped of their rights, humans had little say about what happened to them now. Hank had the unique benefit of catching Connor’s interest.

He couldn’t say it was entirely one-sided, but that had been before the fall of the human race. It also hadn’t included Connors two- and three-point-O.

The first time they’d stripped him down and laid him bare for the taking, Hank was certain his heart would explode out of his chest. He’d agreed after a fashion (the RKs were nothing if not persistent), but it was overwhelming all the same. Three pairs of eyes devoured him before greedy hands groped at flesh or pressed into holes.

He’d choked on Sixty’s fingers probing down his throat and his lungs froze at the cold, feral expression on his face, “This is nothing compared to what you’re going to swallow.”

Fear had trickled into his veins until Connor shoved Sixty firmly away, “Behave or you can sit and watch.”

Connor had sunk down to his knees, running a calming hand through Hank’s hair, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His LED flashed red and angry in Sixty’s direction who had enough sense to look chastened.

“He shot me,” he pouted the words and Hank was surprised at how fast his bravado crumbled beneath Connor’s disapproval.

“You had a gun on me,” Connor quipped back and that was the end of the argument.

When Sixty sunk his mouth down Hank’s cock that night, Hank was briefly concerned for his life. Sixty evidently held no grudge as he applied himself thoroughly to the task.

“He’s more manageable when his mouth is occupied,” Connor had explained, stroking at Hank’s cheek before claiming his mouth. Hank melted into the kiss and only jumped slightly at 900’s gentle touch on his backside.

It had taken some time for Hank to come around to the idea of all three of them. In the beginning, he largely focused on Connor. Anytime they engaged him, he needed Connor front and center. He would murmur things, gentle things.

“So good for us.”

“You moan so pretty when you let go.”

“You come so nicely, Hank. Can you come again?”

He never thought at the age of 53 that he’d pull off two orgasms in one night, but there it was. 900’s frantic little thrusts as he rested his head against Hank’s sweating back tipped him over the edge for the second time. He spilled down Sixty’s throat with a sound more like a whimper than a groan. Connor had to pry Sixty off Hank’s dick by the hair.

“He’s tired,” Connor had admonished quietly. With visible effort, Sixty had bitten back angry words. Hank didn’t care. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in their bed and sleep for three weeks straight.

Connor had scooped him up with embarrassing ease, “We will get him there, Sixty. His stamina will improve. It will just take time.”

Hank had thought he would grow to resent being an object, but he hadn’t factored in that he was their object of affection. The RKs showered him with praise and soft touch. They had to create a schedule for who got to bathe him, feed him, groom him to avoid petty squabbling.

It was overwhelming if Hank thought about it too hard. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth and accept the hand that feeds.

Or, in this instance, the hand that is buried in his hair. He can feel 900’s gentle, insistent pressure as he guides Hank to take as much of Connor’s dick into his mouth that he can handle. The RKs could last for hours, Hank knew, not that they often put him through such a marathon and never on his knees.

Hank knows Connor’s adjusted his sensitivity levels by how his hand grips at Hank’s fingers wrapped around his waist. The other digs into the meat of Connor’s thigh to keep from touching himself. It was unusual for the RKs to ignore Hank’s dick for so long, but they were trying something new. Hank’s flushed cock dribbles its discomfort on the pillow.

The RKs weren’t quite as thick as Hank, but their cocks were more than a mouthful. It had taken time and a lot of trial and error for Hank to acclimate to handling two of them at a time. If he bothered to take his eyes off Connor’s pleased expression, he would see the glimmering, feral mischief in Sixty’s eyes.

“Is he ready yet?” Hank can hear 900 and Sixty pumping themselves in unison to the bobbing of his head along Connor’s shaft. It unnerved him at first that they could synchronize themselves together like this. It had proven useful, though, when Hank was dicked out and exhausted. He could focus on one of them and all three could feel it, if they were so inclined.

“Mhmm,” Connor had purred in answer and the grip in his hair angled him slightly in Sixty’s favor. No matter how many times they attempted this, Hank’s mouth could only stretch so far. The slippery sound of Sixty pistoning, alternating with Connor’s thrusts is lewd and filthy. Hank’s dick twitches and Sixty leers at it.

“Are you s-sure it’s ok for him?” 900’s voices the question for the third time since November began. “His vitals are…are all over the place.” His grip tightens in Hank’s hair and Hank knows 900’s close.

“He’ll be fine. Humans invented the concept.” Sixty’s answer is a swift kick to the gut. Hank wants so badly to take himself in hand. He knows Connor would have zero qualms pinning him to the ground while rutting himself to completion if Hank made the attempt.

“I don’t think…not quite like this.” 900’s ability to vocalize reaches its limits. He rarely spoke, usually only in moments like this. Hank knows it costs him a great deal of effort to expend so many words. He does his best to lave his tongue along the underside of the cocks working in and out of his face. Every RK has additional sensitivity pads near the head and they groan in unison.

900’s fingernails graze his scalp lightly in thanks. A pleasant tremor ripples up Hank’s spine. It helps soothe the burning fire churning inside him. The need for release is overwhelming. They’d been going at this for twenty-two days and counting.

Hank had never hated the phrase _No Nut November_ more in his life.

His dick twitches in anticipation for December 1. For when the RKs would finally work him over to completion rather than stopping at the critical moment before he spilled over the edge.

Sixty still wasn’t allowed to be alone with him during November. No one was worried about him hurting Hank any longer, Hank included, but he had a hard time controlling his desires. He was always the one to fuck Hank through and beyond his orgasms. He was also always involved when the RKs managed to tease out the rare second orgasm from their human.

Connor had tongued his hole until he was a sobbing mess the first night of November and Hank was certain he was doomed.

900 had bathed him and fondled him while wrapped around him in warm water the night after. Even when teasing, his touch was gentle. The worst had been the night Connor had worked his prostate for hours. He would back off when Hank’s vitals signaled his impending release and waited until Hank’s arousal returned to a low boil.

The only thing that made it bearable was Connor’s quiet murmuring, “So hard for me. So good, Hank.” When Hank’s resolve cracked, when he finally begged for him to stop, Connor relented. He kissed his sweating brow before curling around his body with a promise, “You’ll come so hard for us. Soon. December.”

He knew he would never be able to fit both Connor and Sixty in his mouth at once, but that didn’t seem to stop them from trying. He can tell from the rapid _schlick_ -ing sounds behind him that 900 is close. Which, realistically, means all of them are even if Connor and Sixty hold their composure better.

It isn’t long before 900 makes a small sound Hank would classify as a mewl if he could focus on anything other than the dicks taking turns to punch down his throat. A small burst of pride pools in his stomach. It had taken some time to get over his gag reflex; he rarely had issues with it anymore.

The only warning he gets of their impending orgasms is 900s fingers tightening painfully in his hair. Connor sinks his hips flush to Hank’s face and he leans his head against 900’s shoulder. Come paints his naked back and chest as Connor spills down his throat. Somehow, whether by unspoken agreement with the other RKs or superior calculations, Connor always managed to be inside Hank for his release.

Hank’s fingers tremble against Connor’s thighs and Connor pulls out to let him breathe, “Sorry.” He sinks to his knees to give Hank a messy kiss. Thirium based _something_ lingers in his mouth. Whatever the RKs produced in place of come, it was relatively flavorless. What it lacked in taste, it made up for in volume. Hank always had a comfortable feeling a fullness when they spilled their loads inside him.

Heart still pounding and dick still aching, Hank tries not to think about how there is still a week to go of this. Connor rises and hauls Hank to his feet with him. The thirium would evaporate in time, but the RKs preferred to soak with Hank in the afterglow. Hank needed their closeness and their approval, especially when so strung out with need. 900’s fingers find his hair again in the bath to lather it with shampoo. With his back draped over Sixty’s thighs and his head cradled in 900’s lap, he feels more like he’s floating in their oversized tub than bathing in it.

Connor’s presses a small kiss to the swell of Hank’s stomach before kneading at his aching thighs. Although the pillow helped ease his discomfort tremendously, his knees weren’t meant for prolonged kneeling. Sixty remains silent. He had the habit of blurting out thoughts at random and without context that often made Hank flush with embarrassment. Instead, he soaps up a loofa and sets to scrubbing at Hank’s chest. He runs naked, glowing fingers over Hank’s tattoo, trying to absorb it into his true skin.

“Y’can take it off,” Hank murmurs drowsily as the lavender-scented soaps begin to lull him into sleepy relaxation. His dick aches with less urgency and rests half-hard and heavy against his thigh. A faint blush colors Sixty’s cheeks. Hank knew he preferred to bathe without his synthetic skin. He liked how the water felt, how Hank felt, against his naked chassis.

With a blink, the skin ripples away and Sixty bends unnaturally to keep Hank afloat on his knees while resting his head on Hank’s chest. Hank reaches up to rub at his bare head. Without his hair, Hank’s soapy hand glides easily across it. He never thought he’d grow fond of Sixty, but time has a way of wearing down sharp edges like flowing water over jagged rock.

Connor hums, content with their little corner of the new world they’ve found themselves in. Markus doesn’t call often and, as androids, they have few needs that require them to leave. Deliveries bring food and supplies for Hank, allowing them to spend most of their days in a haze of relaxing, fucking, or powering down to recover.

The first time Connor experienced an orgasm as a deviant, he’d done so to the thought of Hank. He never imagined he would have his way in the end. He smiles as he considers how to celebrate the end of November and 900’s head snaps up in alarm. Connor gives him a wink. It was just a thought, but he’d forgotten he was still connected to his counterparts. Sixty evidently has no concerns by his lack of reaction, but they still have a week to go before granting Hank a reprieve.

Whatever they agreed on in the end, he was certain it would be a night worth saving in his endless memory banks of Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


	2. Through the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Six,” Hank’s voice is barely above a whisper.
> 
> “I know,” Sixty purrs against Hank’s jaw, nuzzling at his beard. Two strokes later and his come splatters the sink and the mirror.
> 
> He drops his head panting as Sixty grins into his shoulder, “See? You’re perfect.” 
> 
> Although Hank isn’t aware, Sixty senses 900 disconnect from the device before doing so himself. The quietest of the Androids, 900 stands on the other side of the mirror with his hand clamped over his mouth. His LED cycles _red, red, red_ and his thirium soaked fist shakes as he comes down from his release. 
> 
> Fucking Hank was good, more than good. 900 had been delighted when Connor had been able to secure the deal with Markus. Even so, even with their countless encounters, even finding new and creative ways to fuck Hank cross-eyed, 900 _wants_ in a way his counterparts do not. 
> 
> __
> 
> Inspired by several of Ani's Kinktober arts. This fic is pure PWP and the art is amazing. Links to the art are in the notes at the end of the chapter.

It was rare that Hank engaged with just one of the RKs. It wasn’t a matter of jealousy so much as once one RK realized what was happening, he was likely to join in. Hank didn’t fully understand their obsession with him, but it had saved his ass following the fall of mankind. He didn’t like to dwell on what was happening to the rest of society.

He never left the walls of Connor’s penthouse apartment and he had no desire to. Although Connor’s bargain had struck him as strange in the beginning, he’d grown used to the near-constant attention the three RKs showered on him. It had been overwhelming at first. He’d been prone to feeling touched out or wanting privacy. Connor had made sure he had his own room for when he needed to be alone. As time wore on, Hank retreated to it less and less. His bed felt strange and empty without at least one android curled around him.

He’d been more than peeved when he realized the full-length mirror in his bathroom was a two-way.

“So you’ve been watching me the whole time?” Connor had given him a little shrug. It was in moments like these that Hank was uncomfortably reminded of his status in this newfound societal order.

“Do you watch me do _everything_?” He’d felt skeeved out imagining the RKs watching him take a piss.

Thankfully, Connor had shaken his head, “No, the only security cameras are on the exterior of the apartment. This mirror was more a precaution when we first brought you home.”

 _Home_. Some of Hank’s anger had dissipated at that. He had come to think of this place as home, after all. The RKs treated him well and he wanted for nothing. Connor had even punched out skylights and installed a balcony when Hank mentioned he missed seeing the outside world and smelling fresh air. This high up, they’re well above the clouds. There isn’t much to see other than the occasional drone delivering packages, but it was nice.

Still.

“A precaution?” Hank echoes back, confused by the implication. “A precaution for what?”

“That you’d try to harm yourself.” The explanation hits like an uppercut to the diaphragm. In the months that had passed, Hank found himself forgetting his life before the android revolution. He didn’t like to muck about in dark memories of Connor breaking into his dingy house and finding him piss drunk with a pistol in hand.

Hank knows it likely says something negative about his personality that the removal of all responsibilities and the need to make decisions made him a better person. He also, quite frankly, does not give a damn. He’s happier than he’s been in years and he sees no need to change anything about his current situation.

He finds himself wandering to his room more often after that conversation to peer at the mirror. He wonders what is on the other side of it, or, more realistically, who might be on the other side of it. Running a hand through his hair, he exhales, “Dunno what you all see that’s so great about this.” He gestures at himself as he says it before tilting his face to the sink.

Sixty’s knocking at his door three blinks later and Hank has his answer as to whether anyone was watching. Of all the androids, Sixty had the least patience for Hank’s occasional bouts of self-deprecation.

“We need to talk. Can I come in?” Despite Sixty’s tapping foot and irritated expression, Hank appreciates the recognition of his right to privacy. Not many humans could make such a claim these days.

“Sure,” he says with the easy spread of his palm. He expected a stern talking to or a protracted lecture about body image and countless reassurances that the RKs adore him, everything about him.

He does not expect to find himself with his pants around his knees and bent over the sink. Sixty’s hand grips at his jaw, forcing him to meet his own gaze in the two-way mirror.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs it against Hank’s cheek. “Let me show you. You should see what we see.”

He’s not surprised that Sixty came prepared. Every RK seemed to carry lube with him wherever he went in the house. That or they stashed it in convenient locations. Before Connor claimed him for himself and his counterparts, Hank hadn’t often bothered with sex. He lived alone and the combination of depression and alcohol often meant he couldn’t get it up anyway.

Detoxing and near-constant pampering had done wonders for his libido. Connor had also been upfront about adding supplements to his diet to balance his testosterone. Hank couldn’t remember a time when he had this many boners at any given moment. Sixty staring at him in the mirror like he’s about to consume him goes straight to his dick with embarrassing speed.

Warm, slick fingers tease him open. It isn’t long before Hank’s hands have the sink in a death grip and his legs shake with want. Sixty’s LED circles in one yellow rotation and a low humming starts up somewhere behind Hank’s back.

He groans and Sixty’s lustful expression intensifies, “That’s right, darling. You know what this is.”

Even with a better diet and the RKs spoiling him on the regular, Hank had human limitations. There was only so much sex he could handle, only so much attention he could give, before his body wore out on him. More than once, one of his androids had to go without and a horny android was often a grumpy one as well.

The solution to the problem had been brilliant and simple if not a touch mortifying. Smart devices were nothing new nor was Bluetooth technology. Hank had never considered that the RKs could connect to a sex toy, much less at the same time. The androids, clearly, had given it quite a bit of thought.

Anytime one of them activated such a device, it would ping the others. If they were feeling particularly needy (which, in Hank’s opinion, was always a given), they could join in without exhausting Hank.

At the first slide of the vibrator against his prostate, Hank’s head drooped to the sink with a quiet, “Christ.” Much like who may or may not be behind the mirror, he had no way of knowing who is connected to the toy, who is feeling the drag of it inside Hank as if they are fucking him themselves.

“Eyes up, Hank,” Sixty’s grip on his jaw tightens, pulling his flushed face back to level. “You’re gorgeous like this. We never get tired of seeing you fall apart at our hands.” Hank’s arms collapse until his elbows rest flush against the sink. Sixty follows with exact precision, never missing a stroke. The angle is better and Hank growls out his pleasure at the intensity.

He can come like this, but it takes a lot of time. Sixty never was one for waiting. His hand releases Hank’s face in favor of stroking him in time with the thrust of the toy.

“Eyes on the mirror, Hank. I want you to see how lovely you are when you come.” Dangerously close to the edge, Hank nearly falls apart at Sixty’s words. His pupils threaten to devour his irises, leaving the thinnest band of blue around the edges.

“Six,” Hank’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Sixty purrs against Hank’s jaw, nuzzling at his beard. Two strokes later and his come splatters the sink and the mirror.

He drops his head panting as Sixty grins into his shoulder, “See? You’re perfect.”

Although Hank isn’t aware, Sixty senses 900 disconnect from the device before doing so himself. The quietest of the Androids, 900 stands on the other side of the mirror with his hand clamped over his mouth. His LED cycles _red, red, red_ and his thirium soaked fist shakes as he comes down from his release.

Fucking Hank was good, more than good. 900 had been delighted when Connor had been able to secure the deal with Markus. Even so, even with their countless encounters, even finding new and creative ways to fuck Hank cross-eyed, 900 _wants_ in a way his counterparts do not.

He assumes they don’t know. How could they? They came before him. They don’t have this desire, this flaw. He isn’t good with conversations, not that he’s inclined to discuss this matter at all.

Sixty forces the issue over a dinner of thirium soup and steak, “Hank, how would you feel about fucking 900?” He turns to look at Connor, “Pass the butter, please.” 900’s head whips with inhuman speed to stare in horror between his two predecessors.

“I…don’t…” He fades off into nothing as an amused Connor passes an entire brick of butter to Sixty. Sixty dumps the whole thing into his steaming bowl.

“What?” Hank replies blankly around a mouthful of steak. He’d never considered. Always assumed he would be on the receiving end of this arrangement. He’d yet to grow bored with the RKs’ antics so he wasn’t disposed to complain about it.

“Fucking 900. He wants it. How would you feel about it?” 900 rises from the table, prepared to flee to his bedroom and lock the door.

“Sixty, stop torturing him,” Connor sighs wearily. Sixty had never been one to back down from the scent of blood in the water. While Connor found the situation slightly humorous, he did not want it at the expense of 900’s feelings.

900 sinks back into his chair warily, glaring daggers at Sixty, “How?”

“How did I know?” Sixty quips back before taking a large bite out of the now-blue bar of butter. 900 nods and Sixty gestures at Hank, “You connected today. You didn’t firewall your thoughts.” 900 sinks his head into his hands. He’d forgotten everything transferred over the connection if he didn’t take precautions. They’d taken pains to ensure no one but themselves could access the devices. He hadn’t considered keeping those within the house out as well.

“Really, 900. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; you can tell us anything.” Connor rests his hand on 900’s and his eyes go a bit wide at whatever 900 relays to him.

“Anyone wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?” Hank mutters grumpily as he stabs at his steak. Connor releases 900’s hand, accommodating.

“Sorry, sorry.” The androids had a bad habit of communicating in silence between their shared connection. “900 is envious of you. Of the attention you receive.”

Hank opens his mouth to reply then shuts it, confused. Connor gives him a smile that makes his toes curl in anticipation.

“He wants what we give you. He wants you to fuck him.” Hank squints at Connor, fairly certain there’s more going on based on the pleased expression on his face, “He wants me to _participate_.” The way Connor says it sets Hank’s skin aflame.

Despite getting off once already that day, his dick twitches to life. He would be lying if he hadn’t ever considered the idea. It had been so long since he’d sunk his dick into anything other than a mouth.

“I’m game,” he replies immediately and Sixty laughs as 900 flushes a deep, ashamed purple.

Connor rises and takes 900’s face between his hands, “None of that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Every model is different. There’s no shame in it.”

“Gee, thanks.” Hank rolls his eyes. The horny robots wrecked all of his holes on a regular basis. He’s a little taken aback that 900 thinks there’s something embarrassing about wanting to be on the receiving end. 900 must realize the implication because he rockets into Hank’s lap to bury his face in the crook of Hank’s neck.

“S’fine,” Hank wheezes under the weight of the android abruptly curled against him. 900 was decidedly bigger than the other two. He was also softer through the middle and his thighs. Hank runs a hand along 900’s spine, allowing himself to fantasize about what it will feel like to grope at his ass and hips.

With the idea wafted in front of him, Hank’s appetite for it roars its approval.

They abandon the steak and soup in favor of retreating to the plush bed in their room. While the RK’s have no need to sleep, they often need to power down to recharge and replete their thirium given how often they wind up expending it on or in Hank. They all have their own rooms in the house, but everyone most often winds up here.

It’s an oversized bed with plush peach blankets and pillows. Hank thinks it looks a bit frilly, but it’s the most comfortable bed he’s ever slept in so he keeps his thoughts about lace trim to himself.

He makes a wheezing sound when Connor clarifies what 900 is after, “He wants us both at the same time.” His hand caresses over 900’s bared and upturned ass and realization dawns on Hank’s face like a sunrise.

“Can he handle that?” Hank directs the question to Connor since 900 has his face buried in a pillow, still not quite over his embarrassment.

“Oh, yes,” Connor’s tone is soft and dangerously aroused; it nearly knocks Hank on his ass.

He’d wondered if Sixty would feel put out at being excluded but he prowls the room with feral interest. It takes Hank a moment to realize he’s trying to find the best vantage point. His LED cycles to yellow the moment he settles into place and Hank knows this is going into their video archive.

Hank resists the urge to chuckle when he thinks about what amounts to a massive, lovingly crafted spank bank. Connor has suggested they start having movie nights shortly after Hank settled into the new routine of living with the three of them. He hadn’t realized Connor meant movies they made of him from their point of view as they wrecked and rebuilt him. He declined most of these viewing experiences. He thought it would be disorienting to see himself that way. After this afternoon’s escapade with the mirror, he finds himself reconsidering the idea.

Never an expert on androids, Hank is surprised to discover they don’t require any prep work. Moderately annoyed by that convenience, he shrugs off his irritation. 900 is trembling beneath his palm and needs Hank to focus.

He knows 900 doesn’t need it, but he figures it’s best to introducing him to the sensation one finger at a time rather than pounding into him without preamble. 900’s hands brace against Connor’s shoulders at a gentle push from Hank’s palm, settling onto all fours around Connor. His breathing quickens as he releases excess internal heat. Hank groans when he slips in a finger. Connor had told him the RKs were self-lubricating, but he isn’t prepared for how wet and hot 900 feels.

“Y’alright?” Hank stumbles through the question gracelessly, already lost to sensation. He adds a second finger and 900’s head snaps back, his lower lip clamped between his teeth. Hank feels around, looking for anything indicating a pleasure sensor and he’s rewarded with a breathy _Oh_ when his fingers scrape over several bumpy nodules. They’re soft but distinct. Hank has to resist the urge to bury into him.

Connor grins at Hank over 900’s shoulder even if he aims his words at his counterpart, “Who first?”

If pressed, Hank wouldn’t be able to say who 900 decided on in the end (when watching the video later, he’d learn 900 had chosen him). His brain disconnects the moment he sinks into 900’s tight warmth. 900’s body accepts him easily, hungrily. It feels like 900’s body is trying to consume him in his need to be filled.

Hank briefly wonders if he’d fainted when Connor presses in alongside him. His vision whites out before warping back into view. 900’s mouth falls open around a debauched moan when both man and android begin to thrust inside him.

“More,” is 900’s only request and Hank is more than willing to oblige. His fingers dig into the meaty swell of 900’s buttock while the other hauls him back by the shoulder to meet his thrusts. 900 screams at each plunge and Hank thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. Connor’s nails digging into his hand snags at his attention.

“We have to be easy with him,” Connor reaches up to graze his fingers along 900’s jaw, just shy of interfacing. At a confused look from Hank, Connor elaborates, “He wants everything. We could ruin him.”

900 strings together a sentence for the first time that evening, trying to impale himself more fully, “I want you to.”

Connors pats 900’s cheek gently as his LED whirls a calm cerulean, “Hush, darling. Hank and I are talking.”

“Tell me what it’s like,” Sixty calls from his cross-legged perch on a chair across from the bed. His tone is calm as if he’s catching up on a report about the weather rather than watching Hank and Connor fuck a shrieking 900 for all he’s worth.

“Fucking...incredible. Tight. Perfect.” Hanks words come out broken, but not as broken as the wail shaking up 900’s spine.

900 repeats his request for _more_ and it’s so soft and wrecked that Connor can’t help but indulge him. He yanks 900 flat to his chest, holding Hank’s gaze, “Give him what he wants, Hank.”

Connor bucks, alternating with Hank’s thrust and 900 howls. Always composed, Connor murmurs praise into 900’s ear. Hank’s last coherent thought is to wonder if this is what he looks like to them when they’re taking him apart.

Connor’s thumb brushes the back of Hank’s hand, “Look how hard you make him, Hank. See how good you make him feel?” A blush strokes Hank’s face. The cheeky little shit. Still, he appreciates the praise even if 900 is the one falling apart.

_H aaaa_

900 makes a sound Hank’s never heard before and he realizes he’s desperate for release.

He leans forward, nearly sandwiching 900 between himself and Connor. He places a messy kiss on 900’s spine before mumbling into his skin, “I’ve got you.”

He knows all too well how it feels to be left hanging on the edge of orgasm. Thick fingers wriggle between bellies to wrap around 900’s cock and all three androids groan at the touch. _Typical_ Hank smirks to himself. The RK’s hunger for sensation knew no bounds.

When 900 unravels, he falls limp to Connor’s chest, resting in a slowly evaporating pool of thirium release. He makes soft hiccupping sounds as Connor gives Hank the directive, “Don’t stop.”

Hank’s second orgasm takes less time than he thought. When 900s cries turn to overwrought whimpers, the sound rockets his orgasm to the surface. Connor follows, able to modulate and control it. Sixty presses a warm wet rag into Hank’s hands. He hadn’t anticipated the mess. He’d never really been cognizant enough to take stock of himself after they put him through the paces.

“Filthy,” Connor murmurs as his fingers prod at 900’s sodden entrance. Hank frowns as 900 clenches his eyes closed. “Perfect,” Connor whispers the word like ambrosia into 900’s ear, and they both relax.

Feeling like he’s run two marathon’s back to back, Hank collapses onto the bed as Sixty crawls in to cocoon behind him.

900 turns a timid gaze toward Hank’s face. Hank cups his cheek, “Y’got any other special requests? Because that was just. Holy fuck.” 900’s answering shy smile eases the knot of tension in Hank’s chest. He’d grown to care a great deal for these androids and he knew 900 was more sensitive than the other two.

900 doesn’t indulge in the desire often, but it remains a favorite for movie night. He can never quite bring himself to ask for the things he needs, but Hank learns to recognize the signs. A lingering touch, an unrelenting grip on his hand when they read together—small things the other don’t recognize.

When Hank spots a cue weeks later, he pulls 900 aside, “Do you need me?”

900 nods.

“Anyone else?” Hank rumbles the question as he tugs 900 closer by the belt loops.

900’s LED blinks twice in answer and Sixty peers around the doorjamb as Connor pokes his head out of their room. They grin when 900 smiles shyly at them, tugging Hank toward their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).
> 
> Check out the art that inspired the fic [here](https://twitter.com/_kiriani/status/1180289387655045126), [here](https://twitter.com/_kiriani/status/1183952087064948736), and [here](https://twitter.com/_kiriani/status/1185775973637283841)


	3. Privileges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank could tell by the look on Sixty’s face that he was in trouble. He just hadn’t realized things would play out quite like this. 900 won’t look at him, which is almost as bad as Connor contemplating him. One long, slender finger taps against his cheek in thought.
> 
> “Did he finish?” Connor asks quietly.
> 
> “No,” Sixty shakes his head as he says it. The disappointment in the room is palpable as if Hank had been caught in an act of ultimate betrayal.
> 
> “For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, “Can’t a man jack his own dick in peace?” 
> 
> \--
> 
> I looked at [Ani's art](https://twitter.com/_kiriani/status/1186468208636809217) again and this chapter happened. Oops ;)

Hank could tell by the look on Sixty’s face that he was in trouble. He just hadn’t realized things would play out quite like this. 900 won’t look at him, which is almost as bad as Connor contemplating him. One long, slender finger taps against his cheek in thought.

“Did he finish?” Connor asks quietly.

“No,” Sixty shakes his head as he says it. The disappointment in the room is palpable as if Hank had been caught in an act of ultimate betrayal.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, “Can’t a man jack his own dick in peace?” He regrets the words the instant they’re out of his mouth. 900’s shoulders hunch and he turns further away from him.

“You belong to us,” Connor’s tone is neutral, but Hank has come to recognize when Connor is dangerously upset. He didn’t often remind Hank of his place in this new world order. “Your stamina is nowhere near ours. Masturbating? When you have unlimited access to as much sex, any kind of sex, that you could possibly want? It’s thievery. You tried to steal something precious from us.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” Hank tries to keep his tone polite, but this is bordering on ridiculous.

“He doesn’t understand,” 900 says softly.

“No, you’re right. He doesn’t,” Connor concedes. Hank just wants to know what the fuck is going on and if someone is going to see to his still straining erection. Sixty had dragged him out of the shower as he pinged the others. It feels a great deal like he’s on the most absurd and embarrassing trial of his life.

The house was decently warm—someone had remotely raised the heat to keep him comfortable despite his damp, naked skin—but the facts remain that he is naked, sporting a rocking boner, and surrounded by the only people who apparently believe his orgasms are their sole privilege and responsibility.

“Show him,” Sixty issues the words like a sentence for his crime and a shiver tears through him like a premonition. “Show him how it feels for us when we have to wait for him to be ready.”

Connor smiles and Hank knows he’s doomed, “That is an incredibly appealing idea.”

Hank isn’t certain if he will ever stop marveling at how quickly the RKs can maneuver him. In the end, he’s bound to a chair, arms behind his back and dick leaking wetly onto his bare belly. He isn’t sure what the plug had been all about. It wasn’t the usual variety they used in their playroom. It had a slight curve to it and Connor had been immensely particular about its placement.

He blurts out a startled, “Jesus fuck,” when Connor mounts him without preamble. He’d only removed his pants as if Hank didn’t deserve to see him naked. He’s faced away from him, riding him in reverse. Connor wasn’t often inclined to bottoming, but, like everything else he did, he is a master at it.

His detached efficiency should be triggering alarm bells in Hank’s mind, but he’s too close to the edge for logical thought. Connor braces his hands on the table in front of the chair. How many times had the RKs taken Hank apart on that table? How many filthy things had they done on it, around it? The memories threaten to overwhelm Hank. His head falls back and his eyes close as pleasure courses through his veins.

His head snaps back up at the loud crack of Sixty placing something with too much force on the table in front of Connor, “Fancy a round?”

Connor rises until just the tip of Hank’s dick remains inside him, “I believe I do.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hank groans in realization.

“Sixty and I are busy, Hank. You’ll have to _wait_.” He doesn’t turn to look at him, but he does clench a little meanly around the head of Hank’s cock. “900 is extremely upset with you if you hadn’t noticed.”

Hank had noticed. Although usually quiet, 900 hadn’t spoken to him once since this whole ordeal began and he wouldn’t look at him either. Connor and Sixty settle who will take white and who will take black before Connor resumes speaking to Hank.

“You’re probably wondering about the plug—unless you’ve forgotten it in your frenzy to get off.” Hank had forgotten it, but he’s not about to own up to it. Not when Connor’s acting like a right brat.

The toy hums to life and Hank mewls out a sound of pleasured embarrassment, “900 has control over it. We’ve agreed. He decides when you get to come.”

“Fuck,” Hank grunts again as Connor slowly, excruciatingly sinks down to the thick root of Hank’s cock. He sits in Hank’s lap as if he’s furniture. Try as he might, he can’t buck him or force him to move. Sixty’s grin as he watches Hank assess his predicament borders on feral.

“It’s your move, Sixty.” Connor gestures at the board and Sixty has to tear his eyes away from Hank’s contorting features.

“King’s Pawn. Predictable.” Connor mutters to himself, trying to determine his next move. He strokes himself languidly and visceral jealousy rips through Hank. Realization that that’s the entire point follows hard in jealousy’s wake.

The vibration pattern shifts and Hank’s head pitches forward as he pants hard. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, to push him over the edge.

Sixty’s eyes are on him again and he gives 900 a thumb’s up, “Nice one. I felt that one in my thirium port.”

 _These horny bastards_ , Hank thinks to himself. They’re all connected to the device buried inside him and tormenting him with lust. The vibration intensity slowly creeps upward as Connor and Sixty chase each other’s queens across the board. Connor crosses his leg and leans forward. The shift brings Hank dangerously close to coming. If Connor would just _move_ he knows sweet, molten relief would be his.

His fingers twitch with frantic need and the vibrations reduce to a maddening simmer. Hank’s chest heaves and his belly presses against Connor’s freckled backside with every inhale.

Hank wasn’t a prideful man. Begging was not beneath him, “Connor. Baby, please.”

Connor rests his chin on his hand, eyes only for the game in front of him.

Hank tries again, “Please, I _need_ you!” Connor resumes stroking himself and he sighs with pleasure.

Hank can hear the satisfied smile in Connor’s voice when he speaks, “Well, darling. You should have thought of that when you were masturbating in the shower.”

The toy inside him seems to writhe and Hank’s entire body convulses with need. Connor huffs out a small laugh, “You could have come twice even if that was what you wanted. You could have asked any one of us. You know how we love to indulge you.”

Connor squeezes around Hank’s shaft and stars sparkle in the corners of Hank’s vision. _So close_. Sixty’s eyes narrow like a hunter about to pounce on his prey.

“Hey, 900?” Sixty says 900’s name like a question and Hank’s heart trips at his tone, “Wanna go for a twofer? We’ve got all night.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank exhales as the vibrations switch over to a pattern he recognizes well. If 900 ratchets up the intensity, Hank will explode. “You’re trying…to kill me.” Hank’s lungs burn from heavy breathing as if he’s been sprinting.

“This is how we feel,” 900 addresses him directly for the first time. His voice is flat as if he can’t muster any inflection, “All the time. While we wait.”

Hank’s entire body trembles with the need for release and he practically roars in apology, “I’m sorry! I didn’t…mean it as…as an insult. I was just—”

“Horny?” Connor finishes for him, amused. “By all means, allow us to help you.” They react in unison, that perfect poise that is as terrifying as it is arousing. The vibrations increase dangerously high and Connor begins to ride him in earnest.

The third time Connor slides home, Hank bellows a wordless sound. Connor continues to rise and fall, milking every drop of Hank’s release that he can. He doesn’t stop when Hank finishes. He doesn’t stop when Hank whimpers from overstimulation. He doesn’t stop when Hank’s cock begins to soften. Instead, he seats himself, clenching to keep Hank inside him. It’s an inhuman feat and Hank groans at the heat and the pressure.

“Again?” Sixty directs the question to 900. He gives no verbal reply but the gleeful look on Sixty’s face gives him his answer.

“I’ll keep him warm while he recovers,” Connor offers and Hank realizes he’s not getting his dick back anytime soon. Come leaks out despite Connor’s firm grip on him. It’s a filthy sight and a hum of interest stirs in his guts despite just getting off.

“Must be rubbing off on me,” Hank muses quietly and Sixty practically growls in anticipation.

“I call first dibs,” Sixty’s eyes never leave Hank’s face. Hank’s back aches in presage of whatever strange pretzel Sixty was planning to twist him into.

Connor sighs, but nods, “900, do you want to take his mouth or wait your turn?”

“I’ll wait,” he says softly, “He’s always worth the wait.” Warmth spreads through Hank’s limbs at 900’s words. He was by far the softest of the three.

Connor and Sixty finish their game fifteen minutes later and Connor shimmies in Hank’s lap, “He’s getting better at recuperating,” he announces to the room at large and Hank’s face erupts in pink as embarrassment and arousal clash beneath his skin.

Connor practically purrs when Hank’s dick grows hard once more inside him, “Such a delicious stretch.” He shivers and Hank’s dick pops out of his hole with a lewd sound when he rises. It bobs in interest, unaware that its owner is about to get wrecked.

The toy had loosened him somewhat and Sixty finishes the job with remarkable efficiency. 900 pets his hair, watching and waiting as Connor straddles his face, evidently intent on fucking Hank’s mouth. He’s silently glad. He could handle all three in a night, but it was a workout that left him winded and useless for hours afterward.

“Hold his legs for me,” Sixty asks as he hooks Hank under his knees. He’d gotten a great deal more flexible since the revolution ended. The androids had taken up with they referred to as “Sensual yoga.” Hank knew it was just so they could twist and bend him however they liked.

Connor holds one leg under each arm and Hank’s face burns at how exposed he must be. Both Sixty and Connor sink into Hank’s holes in unison, working toward their own release. Sixty ignores Hank’s dick in favor of hammering at his prostate. It bobs, useless and untouched.

They must’ve turned their sensitivity levels up high because Connor begins making breathy little moans much sooner than anticipated. They’re doing it for him, he knows. Even when upset with him and wrecking him, they kept his comfort in mind. His heart pulses with fondness as Connor spills down his throat. Sixty follows closely behind.

When 900 crawls into the bed, Hank can feel the sadness rippling off him in waves. Fucking hell, he feels like he kicked a puppy or stomped on a little kid’s sandcastle. Maybe both. For fucking jerking off.

900 rolls him to his side, slow and gentle. His hands are hot and Hank wonders if 900’s fingerprints are branded into his skin. He cocoons around him and slides in with a sigh. When he moves, his thrusts are unhurried and deep as if cherishing every moment.

A hand creeps up to cup at Hank’s chest while the other grants him the mercy of jacking his bouncing dick.

“Ni-Nines,” Hank whines in warning.

900 kisses the back of his neck and whispers, “I know. Come for me. Be _good_.” Hank’s eyes prickle smartly at the promise of praise. His second orgasm of the evening is less dramatic and far more emotional.

900 pets his chest, his come-smeared belly. He murmurs his appreciation against Hank’s ear. The others slip back onto the bed, cleaning and redressing him. The lights dim and a fierce, unstoppable drowsiness sneaks under Hank’s eyelids.

The RK’s pile around him and 900’s hand rests over Hank’s heart. They don’t need to address it; everyone in the room knows Hank learned his lesson thoroughly. It seems a little silly to him now. Why bother with jerking off when he has three lustful androids apparently always at the ready to tease earth-shattering orgasms out of him?

As if reading his mind, 900’s fingers flex against his chest. Hank smiles, eyes closed. He’s certain all three are watching him as he murmurs, “Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


End file.
